American Gods (2017–…): Season 2, Episode 7 - Treasure of the Sun - full transcript

The runes have been etched.

Things are happening
ahead of schedule.

You started the first war.

And you'll finish the last.
One more step.

Grow, Yggdrasil. Grow.

I went to war once
Or was meant to.

I owe a battle.

You're following Wednesday

so that you can fight
in his war and die

and for that,
you run his errands?

This is all Wednesday!



He sends you to fuck my plan and
then he sends you to fuck me?

What happened
last night is not part

of some grand plan,
you stupid cunt!

And I don't do Wednesday's
errands because I like him!

I do 'em because
I fucking owe him!

I hate that one-eyed cunt more
than you will ever know.

Hey.

You're really gonna
make me haul that big ass

back to the morgue, huh?

Touch me again
and I'll be hauling you

to the morgue, you cunt.

Good morning, Sweeney.

Ah!

You know, you keep
hanging out under bridges;



people are gonna starting
thinking you're a troll.

Maybe I am a troll.

Well, you told me you were
a leprechaun, so which is it?

Sometimes,
I remember things one way.

Sometimes,
I remember them another.

How the fuck did you find me?

Cops called.

Said there was a dead wino
under the bridge.

Spotted me a 20
if I'd haul him back myself.

Then you owe me 20 bucks
for saving you the effort.

You can literally pull
gold out of the air

and you're asking me for money?

The sun's treasure.

Not much good to you now, is it?

Only coin that matters
is locked up with the worms

in the dead wife's chest.

And she left your Irish ass
high and dry

like fucking bird bones,
didn't she?

The further you get from her...

...the worse your luck gets.

Did you see Laura?

Dead wife...

Fuck!

Fuck her!

- Hey.
- Fuck 'em all.

- Come on.
- Hey.

No, no. Hey, hey, hey.
No, no, no.

Hey, stay with me.
Stay with me. Stay with me.

Hey. Shh, shh, shh, shh.

Where's Laura?

What?

I'll tell you. I'll tell you.

For that 20-dollar bill you got
in your fucking pocket.

You're fucking kidding me.

There. Where is she?

Oh. I can smell the whiskey
on your breath already,

Ben Franklin.

Hey! Fucking...
tell me. Hey.

Where is Laura?

How the fuck should I know?

I thought she might be here.

I saw her in New Orleans.

She was fine.

I pissed her off good
and she ran away.

To get back to you.

Come on.

I'm gonna tell you something.

This is gallows ground
you're walking.

And there's a rope
around your neck

and a raven-bird on each
shoulder waiting for your eyes.

The gallows tree has deep roots.

It stretches from heaven
all the way down to hell.

And this world...

...is the only branch from
which the rope is swingin'.

They grow up
so fast, don't they?

Yggdrasil is ready for war;
ergo, I am ready, too.

The only question,
gentlemen, is,

do we know
who all our friends are?

Ah... Jacquel will come
when you call.

Set and Horus, too.

I know some ifrits in Chicago.

And Mama-ji, Czernobog...

Nancy, Bilquis.

Bilquis?
No, that one is...

Shadow?

Shadow is my eyes and ears.

You can speak freely
in front of him.

We cannot rely
on the Queen of Sheba.

She's with us.

All-father,
that one is for herself.

We all are.

The trick to wrangling
cats is to dangle bait

they can all want.

And Bast.

We've got Bast.

And Mad Sweeney?

Mm. Sweeney.

I just...
I just saw him.

Yes?

Yeah, he's...
he's in really bad shape.

Really?

Well, if he really is
in bad shape,

if he's on his last legs,
then look on the bright side.

He's in the right
place, isn't he?

Another thing about living

in a funeral home is
you never have to cook.

Mourners are always bringing by
their best food.

Oh, how rude of me.

Would you like a taste of this
potato salad, Shadow?

I'm good.

Wise choice. This
is not exactly piquant.

Gentlemen, I have something
for Shadow's eyes and ears only,

if you'll excuse me.

Sorry, Yggdrasil.

You know I have to do this.

Sialfr sialfom mer.

My spear, Gungnir.

The finest in the cosmos.

Head forged by the dwarves,
the shaft carved from Yggdrasil.

Her aim true and always fatal.

She can kill an army
as quick as a god

and every soul she takes
is a tribute to me.

Guard my spear
as you will guard my life.

We are the same.

Wars are coming, Shadow.
I have a big role for you.

Get out, dead girl, or I'm going
to call the health department.

Oh. It's you.
Wednesday's pal.

No. You are Wednesday's pal.

Uh, no, I'm not.

I know this is not an accident.

You tell me why you are
here in my domain.

Well, your domain
is a fuckin' diner

on the side
of the road. So.

I thought you were a Goddess.
Where are your worshippers?

My worshippers are here.

This diner life?
It's not too bad.

Of course, the little
second-generation assholes,

they come in with
their MBAs, their MDs,

raging egos like yours.

You know that I can literally
rip people's limbs off, right?

Do not goad me, dead girl.
I have no time for this.

You see me here as
Kali-ma, the nurturer?

But you, dead girl, perhaps
you would understand me better

as Smashana Kali, the destroyer.

So, do we understand
each other better now?

A little respect is all I ask.

A little help is
what I can give.

Do you need direction?

Or cream, sugar?

- For real?
- For real.

Okay. Um...

I need blood.

Two drops of blood
"infused with love"

for a magic potion that's
gonna bring me back to life.

Sounds like voodoo.

That goddamn voudon.
Always so dramatic.

The problem is not
with the potion;

it is why you take it.

Oh, really?

Is that what
your crystal ball says?

Sorry.

This is not some bloody
psychic reading.

Why do you think I showed you
the face of the destroyer?

Pay attention.

You have the power here,
in your heart.

The angry leprechaun
gave it to you.

- No, he didn't.
- The coin!

Can you not see
you have the power here

in your own heart?

What, like, the power of love?

No.

The power to destroy.

Banshee!

Mornin', pillow biter.

Door's always open, you know.

Sure.

Let me ask you something.

Can you hear that?
The wailing?

The grieving women outside? Yes.

They're not mortals.

They're banshee.

They are women
who lost a husband,

a son, and a father last night.

Ibis has prepared his body
for the burial.

Hey, are you...

Are you all right? Do you need
to lie down or something?

Where is the old one-eyed fuck?

He's busy. Come on,
let me make you some tea.

Ah, fuck off!

When Jesus had given thanks,

He broke the bread, and said,

"This is My body,
which is for you."

And all those who loved Him
took His body into their mouths,

took His body deep down
into their own bodies,

until His body filled
their bodies with the divine.

The gift of the flesh...

...is the most sacred gift
one can make.

I read to you

from the Psalm of Psalms.

"Your love...

...is better than wine,

your scent better
than any perfume.

Your lips drip
with nectar, my bride;

honey and milk
are under your tongue.

You are a garden.

Your shoots are orchards
of pomegranates,

henna, saffron,

calamus and cinnamon,

frankincense and myrrh.

You are a fountain.

You are all the streams
flowing from Lebanon.

Let the wind blow
upon your garden.

Let the divine, through Me...

...enter your garden

and taste your fruit.

This how you gettin'
your rocks off these days?

No more bottomless holy hole?

I adapt. We all do.

Some of us more than others.

The stories that are told
about you

have reached my ears
over the years, too.

The leprechaun, the hill spirit

the pagan warrior, the mad man,

and the great and golden king.

You haven't always been... this.

Ah, well...

It's all bollocks anyway.

Don't remember much of it
these days.

I will not have you.

I will have your confession.

The Queen of Sheba...
playing a priest.

I need a fuckin' drink.

There was a girl.

I remember that much.

She had the sight.

And she let me play with
her boobies under the stars,

and she told me my fortune.

Told me I'd be undone and
abandoned west of the sunrise,

and that a dead woman's bauble
would seal my fate.

And I laughed and I poured
more barley wine

and played with her boobies
some more,

and I kissed her full
on her pretty breasts.

Those were the last
of the good days.

The Gray Monks were changin'
our stories.

Makin' us fair folk
into greedy little green men,

which is all fucking bollocks.

I used to be...

Can't remember.

Keep going.

In one of the stories they tell

a monk named St. Moling
had me killed that night.

In another, it was his swineher
or his cooks - neater that way,

if you want to strip away
what little dignity I had left.

Poor Mad Sweeney,
felled by the soup maker.

This isn't true.

You didn't die that way and
her fortune didn't come true.

Fuck if I know
what the truth is.

I heard a different story.

You had a wife.

A wife?

- MR.
- Aha!

Grimnir.

Oh, I know that smell.

That smells like a hot bottle of
whiskey and sex in an alleyway.

With a top note of failure!

Yeah, yeah.
Eau de fuck-up.

It's gotta be, yes, it is!

The one and only, Mad Sweeney!

I knew Ibis'd have some Dijon
around here somewhere.

You're welcome, Grimnir.

For everything.

For every shitty task
you've ever set before me...

Sounds like my man's asking
for a tip for service.

Not your man anymore.

I'm quitting.

Oh, no, you're not.

You most certainly are not.

We have a contract,
which you have not fulfilled.

I've done everything
you've ever asked of me.

We're gonna come to terms
right now, you old fuck.

I killed the wife for you
the first time.

Lost my coin in the process.

Way I see it,
the debt swung my way

the moment the dead wife
stole my treasure.

You know, I wouldn't go around,
if I was you,

advertising
you lost your treasure

to a rotten little dead girl

who weighs less than
a hundred pounds.

Hm?

You know, why don't you just
reach in and take it from her?

It's got to be given
voluntarily.

Oh, well, wait 'til the maggots

offer it up
on a golden platter...

You might not have a code
of honor, Grimnir, but I do.

She's dead, stupid!

Unless you've gone sweet on her?

I don't give a fuck about her!

Oh, yeah.
Oh, that lousy smell.

That is the rotten stench
of a broken heart.

She fuck you?
She ditch you?

Well, fucking get over it and
do the job I asked you to do!

No.

- No?
- No.

You'd renege on a contract
with a god?

When I met you, you were
just a horny muscle-head

with a lot of cash

and with nothing of value to
whatever was left of your name.

Now, you are whatever
I make you.

- You owe me a battle, Grimnir!
- Forget the code.

Finish off Laura Moon.

And, for fuck's sake,
take a shower, would you?

Don't think I don't know
who you are, banshees!

Who goes there?

What do you want, witch?

It's me...

Eorann. Your wife.

Oh, my queen!

My bonny child.

Yes.

Yes, yes, yes, yes.

What is your name, lass?

Remember, the boundaries
of your father's mind

have grown thin
since he left us.

I'm Moira.

Moira.

Will you eat with us?

Yes. Oh, yes.

And what shall we
be eating, Moira?

Bread.

I love bread.

But why are you dressed in rags,
my love?

Where is your dress?

The yellow one
with the red embroidery?

You wore it on our wedding day.

- You remember.
- Oh, yes.

We danced at dinner

and I thought I was
dancing with the sun.

It was I who danced
with the sun.

But what of the dress?

We lost the dress, husband.

We lost the castle.

Your lands, your title,
your people.

We lost the war.

But how?

You abandoned our allies
on the field.

And so Bishop Ronan
laid a curse on you.

The Gray Monks...

Gray Monks were never
our allies!

I told you they cannot stay!

Gray Monks!

The damned Gray Monks
were never our allies.

What are you doing here?

What's Wednesday got on you?

I am here because
the Jinn is here.

And the Jinn is here because
he owes Mr. Wednesday.

Collects a lot
of debt, don't he?

I told you.

They're banshee.

Harbingers of death.

- They are women in mourning.
- Fine.

Don't believe me.
But I'm telling you.

The Jinn and me, we have to stay

'cause we owe Wednesday.
But you...

...you could leave
at any time.

This war that's comin',

it could end
in your boy's death.

Doesn't have to end in yours.

You got 80 years on your dial.

You're gonna give 'em up

for somebody
who's gonna live forever.

That's how love works.

Do you think he'd do
the same for you?

I mean, if... if Wednesday
asked the Jinn to kill you...

...do you think
he would do it?

Do you know something I don't?

Never mind.

I...

I can't explain love to
someone who has never felt it.

Oh, I've felt it.

I had a family.

I had a wife.

I had a kingdom.

I'm starting to remember now.

- Listen to reason!
- I've had enough reason!

And have you had enough of me?!

No.

I do this for you, my love.

For our family.

The Gray Monks are poison,
pestilence;

they will ruin
everything they touch.

I don't doubt you think so.

- But the world is changing.
- It doesn't have to.

It does. That's what
the world does. It changes.

Look at my belly.

It changes too, and soon,
we will have a child.

So, when the world changes,

I beg you to change with it.

With us.

Are you asking me
to cozy up to our enemies?

I'm asking you to make alliances
instead of enemies. That's all.

The Gray Monks seem peaceful.

And influential.

We need them as friends
before they make friends

with those who are our enemies.

I am entirely sure

that what you're saying
makes sense to you

but I don't understand
a word of it.

You're too fuckin' beautiful.

You... you understand
every word.

Listen, husband.

Listen to one who doesn't want

anything from you
but a very long life...

...together.

Can you not hear that?

They are building
churches on our lands!

They are poison, my love.

They cannot stay.

This is why I owe a battle.

I don't understand.

Because of an argument
you had with your wife?

Because I found
Bishop Ronan that day.

I found him and I made
a big bloody row,

threw his little book
of prayers into the lake,

told him to get the fuck out.

Then I speared
one of his priests.

So, the fucker cursed me.

Told his bastard of a god
to rake me through

with the worst of what was in
me at that moment - madness -

and to end me the way I'd ended
his little holy ass-kisser.

By the spear.

Banshee.

I heard them on the battlefield
at Mag Rath.

I knew then
that I'd die that night

by the spear
like the Bishop said.

Help us.

Help us.

So, I walked away.

The war, my family, my mind.

I lost it all...

...because I left it all.

Well, it's not
the version you told me.

Where the girl with
the big tits told you you'd die

by a dead girl's bauble.
So, which is it?

What the fuck, Bilquis?

You spend that 20 yet?

Thinking about using it now.

Don't let her near him.

Your wife.

Don't let her near Grimnir.

Grimnir's nothin' but rot.

Why do you even care?

I warned you.

Let's just leave it at that.

Fine.

Well, don't worry about me.
I'm good.

Wednesday even gave me
his magic stick to guard, so...

Gungnir.

You think you earned it.

Mm-hmm.

You have the All-father's
favor today and it feels good.

Doesn't it?

Like the sun is shining
on your fuckin' face.

Like you did something
to deserve it.

Tomorrow you'll be me, Shadow.

The dog he kicks.

There's always a cost with him.

Just haven't paid it yet.

Why do you let him
treat you like that?

You think you're not
his bitch? Hm?

I watched you
sign your life away.

Right there in front of me
in Jack's Crocodile Bar.

You're his man now.
You're his bodyguard.

And when he dies,

you're the punk that's gonna
have to hold his vigil.

You're fucked, man.

Spoken like the dog
he just kicked.

You remember how I did
that little coin trick?

Huh?

Figured you just took
the coins out of nowhere.

Not outta nowhere.

I take 'em from the Hoard.

You just have to hold it
in your mind...

...and you can take
whatever you want from it.

The sun's treasure.

You can keep whatever's
precious to you.

Bring it back.

How's it feel
to lose your lucky coin?

I'm not gonna ask you again.

You're not my battle,
Moon Shadow.

Promise me something
and I promise I'll give it back.

What do you want?

You hear that wailing outside?

Do you know what it means?

People get sad
at a funeral home.

Means death is coming
to this house.

Someone here is gonna die soon.

When the time comes...

don't get in the fucking way.

What the fuck
does that even mean?

You'll know.

Deal?

Yeah.

Whatever.

Wednesday...

Me...

Fuck all the gods.

We're not the heroes, Shadow.

Ah...

Tastes better cold.

There's no more in the fridge.

I ain't after the taste anyway.

What you writin'?

Same story you've been
writing all day.

Ah.

Ah, so, you're trying
to get inside my head, too?

Good luck with that one.

The friendly faggot
and the maneater

already looted the place.

You have a lot
of stories in there.

Hard to keep 'em all straight,
isn't it?

A storyteller does not concern
themselves with the truth.

Stories are truer
than the truth.

These are not literal constructs

so much as imaginative
recreations.

What are you writin' now?

Your earliest story.

The one about me...

...fightin' off all the gods
coming into Ireland?

Wave after wave of 'em,

coming in from Gaul
or from Spain,

from every other
fuckin' place...

...until Mother Church arrived,

turned us all into fairies
and saints and dead kings

without so much
as a by-your-fucking-leave.

They made you small.

I ain't small.

I ain't Wednesday's
fuckin' bitch.

I know.

The story I'm writing is about
Lugh of the Tuatha de Danann,

the ancient race of Gods
in old Ireland.

You weren't small.

I was a king.

You were a God king.

You were God of the sun,

of luck, of craft, art,

of everything valuable
to civilization.

The shining one,
they called you.

You saved your people from
their old enemy, the Fomorians.

Lamfada, they called you.

Long-hand.

For your skill with your spear.

You had fight in you
when they needed to fight.

Because of you, they survived.

Where the Tuatha de Danann
were scientists and artists,

the Fomorians were madmen.

Monstrous beings that came
from under the sea,

under the ground,
under the surface of things.

Nightmares.

I remember now.

The madness.

- It came from him.
- Your father's father.

One-eyed Balor of the Fomorians.

I don't wanna
remember this story.

I didn't wanna kill him.

He loved me.

He cared for me.

No, that's not right.
Balor? He tried to kill you.

He heard prophecy that
his grandson would kill him.

So he rounded up
all his grandchildren

and drowned them all
in the lake.

But you survived.
Like you always do.

No...
It wasn't Balor.

This is wrong.

Stop writing.

It was Grimnir.

It was Grimnir.

Don't you remember...

...what I said about the truth?

Stories are truer
than the truth.

What's this for?

I was gonna spend it on whiskey.

Or a ride outta this place.

You might want
those things tomorrow.

Don't need it.

Consider it payment
for drinkin' all your beer.

You're not thinking
about tomorrow?

That ain't none
a your fuckin' business.

Thanks.

A toast to the crying ladies
on the porch,

for leaving us their leftovers,

and to their husband, for dying
and giving them the occasion.

And for all of you...

...for keeping me company
in the coming war.

Uh, we don't do toasts in Egypt.

Yes, it's not appropriate
in Islam either.

But I can echo your sentiment.

Well, I thank you
for that, then.

Sometimes amazed
we can sit at the same table.

Let us enjoy this moment
while we can.

My presence back on earth here
has been felt by old and new.

Gungnir is whole again;

Yggdrasil has grown up,

which means... the proverbial
shit is about to hit the fan

and this is our proverbial
Last Supper. Hm?

Are we ready? I am.

A compact then. To war
or the end of the world, huh?

Ah, surprise, surprise.

Somebody forgot
to call me down to dinner.

Nobody's stopping you
drawing up a chair.

Except for the fact that
there's no more fuckin' chairs.

I'm feeling a bit like
the 13th fairy, I have to say.

Ah, here, uh, take my chair.

Why all the long faces?
Banshees' wailing got you down?

But you're eatin' their food.
That's good.

Thought you would've
known better.

You ever hear what happens
when you eat a fairy's food?

You're in their debt now.

Fuck the fairies.

You gonna let him
talk about us like that?

I didn't spoil your appetite,
did I, old man?

Means I don't owe you anymore.

Not a hair on my fuckin' arse.

Don't.

Get.

In. The.

Way.

Let go of the spear.

It's between me and Wednesday.

Can't do that.

- Clear the room!
- Please, friends...

No!

Give him this.

Made me a promise, Shadow.

I made him a promise.

Oh, Sweeney made a promise;

Shadow made a promise,
Bilquis made a promise.

We all make promises, huh?

My promise to you is done.

Debt cancelled, thanks
to all that potato salad

you been shoving down
your fuckin' throat!

If you know what's good for you,
you'll put the spear down.

You'll leave, you'll never
look on any of us fucks again.

No one's dyin' tonight, Sweeney.

Let go of the spear.

No.

I'm not gonna ask you again.

Can you feel the poison?

It's him.

We're on the same side, Shadow.

He's been lyin' to you
from the start.

Oh, shut the fuck up!

Your wife's car wreck?

That was me.

On Wednesday's orders.

Why would he kill Laura?

He's using you, Shadow,

like he uses everybody.

Leave. Now.

Fuck you.

Fuck me?

Yeah, fuck you.

Fuck me.

I fucked her...

...in New Orleans.

That true? Huh?

Aaah!

I'm so sorry.

You owe me a coin, Moon Shadow.

What a waste.

I would've given you
your battle.

You were always my battle.

Your spear is
the sun's treasure, now,

you one-eyed cunt.

I used to be a king.